Meeting Again
by sparrowlove
Summary: PeterClaude. A companion to Superheroes. Claude finds Peter to ask him to do something.


Obviously, Peter didn't see him coming. One moment he was walking down a fairly crowded street, face partially obscured by a hat and dark sunglasses and the next he was pushed roughly against a wall in a dark alley that smelled of grease and dirt. An unseen hand clasped over Peter's mouth while a finger traced along his still-healing scar.

"Trick or treat." Then, "So," a voice hissed, and even if Peter hadn't already identified his assailant, the voice was a dead giveaway. "It was you in the end after all. Fan-fucking-tastic."

"I thought you were dead," Peter gasped through Claude's hand.

"Lucky we're not all dead. No thanks to you of course. I could tell you exploded, you know," Claude remarked dryly, "because I recognized bits and pieces of your stupidity everywhere."

"How did you find me?" Peter asked hoarsely.

"A friend of yours pointed me in the right direction. Real electric personality, that one."

"Elle is not my friend."

"You know what, Pete? Doesn't matter." And suddenly the hand was removed from Peter's mouth and Claude's lips were against his and if Peter had been thinking about controlling his powers the passerby would have seen a man apparently kissing nothing but Peter lost control and slipped into invisibility, absorbing Claude's power just as he had that first day they met.

Peter pushed the older man away. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm on an assignment."

"From who," Peter muttered incredulously. "the Company?"

"Someone else," Claude replied ominously.

"Who else?" Peter demanded. "Elle? Are you taking orders from her—Ow," he yelped as Claude grabbed him by the neck and slammed his head against the brick wall behind them. "What was that—"

"Haven't you caused enough trouble? And yet you continue to ask stupid questions instead of actually doing something. If you want someone to give you the answers, make them listen to you. Don't just ask like a fool and expect them to tell you because you're so cute, you damn—" This time it was Claude pushed up against the wall.

"Shut up," Peter growled, breathing heavily. Then he seemed to falter, but the intensity in his voice did not fade. "Do you know what I've lost?"

"What you've lost?" the older man responded, coughing as he tried to pull Peter's hands away from his throat. "What you've lost is nothing compared to what everyone has lost because of you, is it? The rest of the world has to—get off me," he interrupted himself, pushing Peter away, "The rest of the world is suffering because you can't control yourself."

"What do you care about the rest of the world," Peter asked. There was a hard edge to his voice, but his face was stricken. "You don't even care about the people you know."

"And you're doing a fantastic job with that aspect of your life. Tell me, where is your family?" Then Claude was thrown backwards with a sudden shock of electricity. Peter's face was enraged. "Very good," Claude said. "You're not totally useless."

"This isn't one of your lessons," Peter said through clenched teeth. "I'm not playing games; this is my life."

"Even better," Claude commented mockingly, "When we're finished here, you can go into a career doing soap operas. You have the overacting perfectly—" he ducked out of the way as Peter launched a red ball of light at him.

"What do you want me to do?" Peter growled.

"I want you to go to a party."

"What?"

"A party," Claude repeated. "Your brother's, actually."

"What?"

"Are you hard of hearing or do you just enjoy repeating the word 'what'?"

"No."

"No what? Anyway. Your brother is having a party. You have to be there."

"Why?"

"Oh, very good. Only three more w question words to go?"

"What?"

"Now you're back to that again. You need to be there to tell them that something bad is going to happen. Something bloody horrible in fact."

"What's going to happen?"

"I'm not going to say," Claude said, practically smirking. "You'd just stand up in front of all those important people and say something especially stupid. Now listen, all you need to do is say 'Run.' It is very simple."

"Why don't you say it?" Peter asked. "Why hunt me down just so I can tell my... the president... Nathan to get out of the way?"

"I'll be busy," Claude said, "But don't worry. I'll be keeping watch in case you fuck it all up. Now go."

"Should I wear a costume?" Peter asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Does this sound like a joke?" Claude asked angrily. "_Go_."

Peter rubbed the back of his head, where he could feel a bump from where it had been slammed against the wall. He went.


End file.
